


Perchance to Dream

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, It's all going to be fine, Just cos he's a dad now doesn't mean Crowley doesn't still have Issues, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Snakes, but don't worry, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: No one likes bad dreams - not Crowley, not Aziraphale and certainly not the babies.





	Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I've been enjoying these stories so very much - they've cheered me up several times when I've had a rubbish day - so I thought I should contribute something to the collection as repayment :)

It was such a beautiful evening, chilly but crisp, and Aziraphale decided to walk home from the rare book auction, rather than miracle himself. He and Crowley had agreed to cut down on the unnecessary ones - anything to keep Heaven and Hell off their backs. After all, it was no longer about the two of them against the world. They had the children - a family - to think about now.

Soho was quiet for a Sunday night, the cool autumn air driving people into the warmth of the pubs and bars instead of spilling them happily onto the pavements. Still, the mood was a happy one and Aziraphale grinned as he strolled along, his books clasped in his arms. Perhaps if he concentrated hard enough, Crowley would be able to sense him coming and already have the kettle boiling. 

In fact, he was so focused on his task that he was all the way to the door of the shop before he sensed the black mood that seemed to seep under the door, and heard the children crying. 

_Father, Father!_

_Father, we’re scared!_

Aziraphale abandoned his miracle free day and materialised at the babies’ tank. He threw his books down on the desk as he peered inside. In his head their voices grew shriller, and more panicked. 

_Azirafather!_

_Azirafather, help!_

He’d never heard them like that before, and his throat closed up to see them huddling miserably together in the bottom of the tank, five pairs of wide eyes fixed on him. 

“I’m here, my darlings, I’m here. Please don’t cry.”

He reached in with both hands and all five of them surged to wrap around his wrists and fingers. Someone was still crying, although he couldn’t tell who. Anthony Junior reared his head up as Aziraphale lifted his trembling hands from the tank. 

_Father was shouting. Why was he shouting? We called and he didn’t come!_

Anthony’s voice was so indignant, even in Aziraphale’s head, that he had to smile. The baby was so like Crowley.

“I think he is dreaming,” Aziraphale said, for he had recognised the dark mood the instant that he felt it. Crowley didn’t have so many dreams - nightmares, really - as he used to have, but when he did - well, it was no fun for anybody.

_We don’t like it, Azirafather. We could feel it and it made us scared._

Well, that was something to put away for now, to be thought about later. Up until now, the children hadn’t seemed to show any particular occult or ethereal tendencies. But if they could feel Crowley’s dreams, in the same way that Aziraphale could? Well, that was something else entirely. 

“I’m sorry, my darlings. I’m sorry you were afraid.” He kissed five small heads, glad that the crying had stopped.

_I want Father. Please, Azirafather._

Raffy, of course. The littlest snake worshipped the ground Crowley slithered on.

“If he’s dreaming, I’d better wake him up first. Can you wait here for me?”

_No, no, not the tank!_

_Please._

Five pairs of pleading eyes fixed on his face, and Aziraphale was lost. They’d never objected to the tank before, so he was sure they were not trying to be difficult. Crowley’s dream had truly disturbed them. The poor dears. How afraid they must have been, trapped and unable to escape.

He’d certainly never heard any of them crying before, and it was a sound he did not want to hear again.

“Well, my darlings. How about you all curl up safely in my pocket until Father is awake?”

There was a little chorus of agreements, thank goodness, and he stowed them all in his jacket. They were bigger than when he had done it before and the pocket bulged, but it was rather a lovely thing that they’d all feel safe with him, just like when they were tiny hatchlings. He put a hand in after them and felt a tongue flicker against his fingers.

The mood emanating from the back room was certainly easing, but he wasn’t at all sure of the state Crowley would be in. Really he didn’t want the children to see it, and he knew Crowley would be mortified if they did. 

“Keep you heads down. Give Father some space.”

Tiny hisses of agreement.

Crowley was sprawled out on the sofa, a blanket tangled around his middle. He looked so uncomfortable, although he had at least kicked off his boots and draped his jacket across the chair. 

He was also muttering furiously, his sibilants long and out of control, his face contorted in pain. 

“Crowley, my dear, do wake up,” Aziraphale called cautiously. He’d been caught too many times before by a flailing limb. 

When that didn’t work, he stepped closer and reached out with his aura, to soothe Crowley’s troubled mind. It usually worked, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Crowley’s face loosened up a little, and his tongue retracted into his mouth.

“Wake up now,” Aziraphale said, careful to keep the pocket with the children turned away, but confident enough to shake Crowley by the shoulder. “Come on. I’m home.”

“Huh? Angel? Angel!” Crowley almost rolled off the sofa, stopped only by Aziraphale’s arm holding him in place.

“Shh, you were dreaming. It’s alright.”

Crowley blinked and clutched at him, arms around his arm, so like the way the children had clung to him that Aziraphale kissed his nose just as he had with them.

“Bloody dreams. Thought we’d seen the back of them. Was I shouting?”

“I didn’t hear, my dear,” Aziraphale said, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “But the children told me -”

“Oh - oh no - did they-?”

“I’m afraid so. They were very concerned for you when I got home.”

“Oh Sat - someone.” Crowley hung his head. “Are they alright?”

_Father, we’re here!_

Crowley looked up sharply as Aziraphale drew his hand from his pocket, and all five babies came with it, their voices mixing into one. Aziraphale touched Crowley’s cheek with his other hand, a silent reassurance for the both of them that the children were well.

“Hello spawn,” Crowley said, trying to keep his voice light as he reached out. They all slithered into his hands and up his bare arms, their tongues flickering as though afraid something about him would have changed. 

_Father, we called but you didn’t come!_

“Now, Anthony, I told he couldn’t help it. Father didn’t ignore you,” Aziraphale chastised gently, seeing Crowley’s face drop again.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said. “I’m so sorry.”

He lifted each baby to allow them to boop noses with him, but his jaw was set.

_Father, what’s a dream?_

Tiff was always the curious one. 

“Pictures in my mind. When I sleep. Sometimes not nice ones.”

_I have dreams._

Anthony announced it as though it wasn’t a big deal at all, but Aziraphale was too shocked to speak. Dreaming was _human._ Even he wasn’t certain he’d ever got the hang of it. He glanced at Crowley, who seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. 

_I dream nice things. I dream of trees and Father’s plants and Azirafather reading us stories, and lots of mice to eat. And we play games._

“I’m glad.” Crowley found his voice first. “Dreams should be nice.”

_Can I dream?_

“I don’t know, Tiff. Maybe, if your brother can.”

Aziraphale sat down beside Crowley and rested his hand on his knee as the children, their trauma forgotten, began to talk amongst themselves about this new thing. When they talked quickly to one another Aziraphale could hardly understand them still. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale murmured. 

“Scared ‘em. Doesn’t feel good.”

“They were scared for you,” Aziraphale said, deciding to leave out that there had been crying. “Not of you.”

He ran a gentle hand through Crowley’s hair and pulled him into an embrace. The children didn’t miss a breath as they arranged themselves around wrists and in pockets. And as they chattered still, their worry forgotten, Aziraphale felt Crowley slowly relax against him until he and all five babies were contained in Aziraphale’s lap. 

_Azirafather, have you ever had a dream?_

“Oh yes, I have.” Aziraphale breathed his reply against Crowley’s ear. “And it looked rather a lot like this.”

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks to Kedreeva who invented this sandbox and lets us play in it :)


End file.
